


Ambrose Noir: Bad Moon

by NerdyAdjacent



Series: Ambrose Noir [3]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe, Film Noir, M/M, More tags to be added, POV First Person, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-10-20 13:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10663344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdyAdjacent/pseuds/NerdyAdjacent
Summary: I drowned myself in the liquor that would finally get me drunk and what little work I could find, the more dangerous the better. That, it would seem, was the only way I could truly forget about him, if even for a little while.





	1. Chapter 1

It's quiet. 

I hate it.

There is no more noise in my head, the demon having left a while ago leaving me with my own thoughts and feelings. The worst part? There was also no more soft breathing beside me at night, no more mumbling or gentle snores. I had nothing but the terrible silence of being alone. I know that sounds awful dramatic, but when the person you love leaves you, dramatic is all you have. 

It’s been three months since Seth disappeared without a trace, leaving the city - and me - to miss him. He’d left no trace of himself except for what little he had managed to leave at my apartment. But a faded college t shirt and a toothbrush couldn't compare to having him here with me, laughing and smiling like I was the most important thing on the planet. 

But I had been too much. 

I lie to myself pretty often, thinking that maybe it was better this way; maybe if he wasn't here he’d finally have a life worth living. Truth is, I miss him so much it physically hurts. It hurts so bad that sometimes I can't function. That first week was hell, absolute and complete torment because he wasn't there next to me, I couldn't feel his warmth or hear his voice. I was alone. Roman - god love him - tried to help, I know that, but I couldn't listen to him tell me over and over that this was for the best...because I didn't believe that, no matter how much I tried to tell myself otherwise. What was _best_ was having him here with me, but I had no say in that.

So I drowned myself in the liquor that would now get me drunk and what little work I could find, the more dangerous the better. That, it would seem, was the only way I could truly forget about him, if even for a little while.


	2. Chapter 2

“You look like shit.” Roman says from his permanent spot behind the bar, mixing some mystery cocktail for a customer on this surprisingly busy night at the Powerhouse. “Are you still not sleeping?”

You know, if this were a few months ago, I might even make a snarky quip about it, but I'm just too tired. No, I haven't been sleeping. I was never much of a sleeper to begin with, but now I'm going on three days lying awake in bed thinking about Seth. I don't even order a beer, just a black coffee and twelve sugar packets. In my line of work, most business endeavors take place at night, so there's that. 

Roman complies, not without a frown, but that's just his face anyway. You'd think after all we've been through together he'd at least pretend to be happy to see me. Granted, if he ever was, I may have to break out my rusty exorcism skills. It's been a while, but I think I could do it...maybe...I'd give it a good effort. 

The coffee is old, bitter tasting even with the mountain of sugar I dumped into it, but that's ok because I can already feel the jolt from the caffeine hit my bloodstream and I'm feeling better about asking for any work that Roman may have heard about. He scowls - I know he hates when I ask - but shakes his head. “None. Why don't you just advertise in the paper like a normal person?”

I snort a little laugh at the ridiculousness of _that_. Advertise? What do I look like? Some reputable businessman? No thank you. “Reputations aren't built on advertisements, Ro.”

“Lucky for you, it probably wouldn't hurt yours anymore than you've already done yourself.”

“That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me.” 

“Get out of my bar.”

“I live here.” 

“Technicality.”

“Fine, but I'm taking my coffee.” I say as I slide off the stool and take the mug from the bar. “and just for that, I'm keeping the cup.”

I didn't wait for his answer or reply or whatever he was going to say to me, I just walk out with a full mug of coffee. In all honesty, I was happy Roman didn't treat me with kid gloves. He never changed his attitude, continued to rib me and pretend he didn't care, which is total bullshit. But, you know what? I really appreciated it. I needed it, that normality, to keep from sinking further into the depression left in the wake of Seth Rollins. 

I wasn't paying attention when I walked right into something, or someone. Didn't matter, because I was now covered in scalding hot coffee. “Jesus Christ!”

“Oh, I-I'm so sorry! I didn't see you there! Are you okay? Do you need a- you need paper towels. Hold on I'll get them. But, are you alright? That looked like a nice shirt, too...”

The guy talked a mile a minute in all different directions, one thought interrupting the next, he also felt the need to try and wipe down with his hands any part of me that was wet and I instantly wanted to punch him. “What the fuck, man?! I ain't that hard to see!”

Once his frantic movements started to die down, mainly because I had to physically push him away from me, he stood up straight. He was young though dressed older with a newsboy hat covering his head and a black jacket over jeans and a white tee. The soft apologetic expression in his brown eyes was oddly comforting. “I'm really sorry.”

“Whatever dude. It's ok.” I say, though it's through gritted teeth. Man that hurt. 

“You just came out of that bar?” He asks. “Let me make it up to you.”

“No, it's really ok.” I answer, already starting to walk away. “Just watch where you're going next time.”

“Will do!” He called after me. “Again, sorry!”

I waved him off as I walked down the street not really knowing where I was going but sure I wanted it to be anywhere but the Powerhouse. 

I still fucking hate that name.

Twenty minutes later, I'm fucking fuming. All I wanted was a goddamn coffee! I found myself at one of those overpriced coffee shops, one very similar to where I met Seth for the first time. Maybe it was nostalgia or me missing him, which I always do, but I decided I wanted to go in. I ordered a black coffee, cringed at the price and reached for my wallet to pay for the frankly ridiculously priced drink, and found it missing. I knew I grabbed it before I left. That little shit who ran into me must have taken it! 

Wandering back to the Powerhouse, I was livid. Roman looks me right in the face and sighs with annoyance. “Didn't I kick you out? Where's my mug?”

“Forget the mug!” I snap and ignore the way his eyebrow raises at me. I have more important problems than dealing with his attitude right now. “I was just fucking pickpocketed outside the bar!”

Roman snorts a laugh, tries to recover after seeing the pissed off look on my face, then laughs hysterically. “Pickpocketed! Oh man! Only you, I swear! I mean, what could they really have gotten away with? $10 bucks and a few expired coupons?”

“$15 bucks and that's not the point! Some dude in a newsboy hat ran into me and spilled coffee all over me, wouldn't stop fussing and apologizing. He must have done it then. If I ever see him again I'll-”

I'm interrupted when my wallet is slapped on the bar in front of me. Looking up, there's the very same asshole who stole it in the first place. “You!”

“Yeah, hi, sorry for stealing this.” He says and grins down at me with this stupid smile that makes my stomach do things I hadn't felt in months. Dammit! “I had to be sure it was you. Your wallet is kinda sad actually, I don't think they'll accept those coupons anymore. I didn't take anything, it's all there...well, I had to borrow a few bucks for the beer, but I didn't think you'd mind. I got the cheapest I could, not the best beer but-”

“You talk way too much for me.” Roman says and moves away, leaving me and this guy staring at each other. 

“Me too.” I grab the wallet off the bar and shove it back into my pocket. “Now, in needed anywhere else but here…”

“Oh, yeah, about that.” He digs into his jacket and pulls out a leather case that he flips open to reveal a badge and identification card. “Agent Sami Zayn, FBI. We need to chat. I'm sorry about this, but I'm going to have to arrest you. Please come with me quietly, I really don't want to hurt you.” 

“Shiiiiiit…”


	3. Chapter 3

I went quietly, i’m not stupid. If I had put up a fight, he would have called for backup, cuffed me, thrown me in a car, and taken me wherever he was going to anyway. I’d been arrested enough to know that when they request you go easy, you fucking go easy. 

This wasn't my first rodeo. Probably wouldn't be my last.

I knew the drill. He took me back to the local police department’s station, FBI tend to use those when out on assignment. I said hi to a few officers I hadn't seen in a while - good people - and let him lead me to the interrogation room. It's a pretty stereotypical room, too: all white, cold, too small to really be comfortable, uneven folding chairs, ugly linoleum floor, the smell of old cigarettes hanging in the air, metal table. It's laughable really. 

I sit when he kindly asks me too. He's way to nice to be an FBI agent and I find myself wondering if they sent some newbie or some Fox Mulder wannabe to find me. It's been almost a year since that broadcast, I'd _hoped_ they'd have given up. As with every other aspect in my life, I wasn't that lucky. 

“Can I get you anything before we start?” He asks me, a slight upturn to the side of his mouth. He has this way about him that makes him trustworthy. Maybe it's the amicable demeanor, the kind tone to his voice, or the eyes that didn't seem harsh and unforgiving, but he seemed trustworthy. This, of course, makes me not trust him at all. 

I sigh because, quite frankly, I have plenty of other things I could be doing. The fact that I'll probably be stuck in this stupid little room for the next several hours already has me pissed. “Look, agent, can we just get on with this? You gonna take me back to Washington, make me tell you everything I know about the Abnormals? Just do it.”

“Ok then.” He says, more put off than I anticipated, but I also didn't really care. He sits in the chair across from me, folds his hand on the table, and looks me right in the eye. “I need your help.”

Well, if that wasn't the last thing I expected him to say. “Excuse me?”

He reaches down into the bag he had at his side and pulls free a folder, typical and nondescript. Unusual for the FBI, but not unheard of. Government secrets aren't there to be broadcast with flashy labels and the like. He slides it across the surface, twists it so it's facing me, and waits for me to get curious. 

Personally, I'm torn. I open the folder, there's a really good chance I'll regret it. I don't, and I might get outta here with a little smooth talking. But, fuck me, my curiosity got the better of me and I open it. It's a few papers I really didn't understand - not that I looked at them all that closely - some photos obviously taken by someone tailing their subject. They were grained, hard to make out, but there's a definite connection between them...the man at the center of each one. 

“Who's this jackass?” I wasn't exactly in the best of moods at the moment. Plus, it wasn't like it was that far off an assessment. The guy genuinely looked like a jackass. He was obviously tall in comparison to the others in the photo, greasy long hair that is clinging to his balding scalp by a thread, douchey skull tee shirt, and a snarl that clearly said ‘don't fuck with me.’ All-in-all, he screamed werewolf, which agent Sami confirmed a few seconds later. 

“Baron Corbin, alpha of a pack causing trouble in Louisiana. So far, the body count alone is starting to raise eyebrows among the normal and abnormal crowd.”

I drop the photos and stare at him. “So, wait, you're not here to ask me what I know after making that broadcast?”

He snorts a laugh, which, honestly, was cute but kind of pissed me off. “You think the government hasn't known about Abnormals for decades now? Your little broadcast just brought it into the public eye. That whole bounty on your head was more of a publicity stunt than anything. No one was _really_ looking that hard for you.”

I was flabbergasted. These motherfuckers had me terrified for almost a year now over a goddamn publicity stunt?! “Are you kidding me? I've been looking over my shoulder for months and-”

“Just because we weren't actively trying to arrest you, doesn't mean we weren't keeping a very close eye on you.”

I sigh, because that's what I do when I'm completely annoyed. “So what exactly do you want?”

He points his finger to the photo open on the desk and looks me right in the eye. “I want you to help me arrest him and his pack.”

I snort a laugh. What an utterly ridiculous thing to say. Why on earth would I help with this? “What? No team of agents to assist? You gotta bring my ass in?” He recoils a bit, like I had hit a nerve. Then it hits me. “You're on your own, aren't you?”

“No!” He snaps quickly at me, almost like he's offended I would dare think the bureau would abandon one of their own. “T-they know I'm here! They do! I'm just working alone this time. It's not like I couldn't find a partner if I wanted to. I-I just think that-”

“Woah! Woah! Woah! Anyone ever tell you you talk a lot?”

“Yeah, all the time.” He sighs. “Look, I need your help. I know you've got a thing for danger now, right? We've noted you're taking more and more dangerous cases...when you can find them.”

I pull a face. Did he just insult me? I can't even tell. “Listen here-”

“No, you listen!” he snaps at me then recovers with an appeasing smile. “I’m sorry, but you really don't have a choice in the matter. Help me or I’m arresting you for real.”

“What? I didn't do anything wrong!”

“Really?” pulls out another folder, this one with my photo on it. It’s surprisingly thick and i’m not sure whether or not He opens it to a should be impressed or worried. He opens it to a list - a long one - of charges. “Theft, breaking and entering, conspiracy, assault, assault with a deadly weapon-”

“I hardly think an ashtray counts as a deadly weapon.”

“But the baseball bat does.” and he continues with a laundry list of possible charges that, quite frankly, was damn impressive. 

When he finished, I snorted a laugh. “Whatever. I’ll help you, ok. On one condition.”

“What's that?”

“After this, you and the FBI leave me alone.”

A smile lifts the corners of his mouth and he jumps up out of his seat. “Thank you! You have no idea how much this helps me. I mean, I could have done it alone, but having someone like you - not to say you're - but it's important work. Saving people.”

I sigh, audibly and as dramatically as I can. If he’s going to be like this the entire time, then I have just made a huge mistake.


End file.
